


How to Marry Your Baby's Daddy

by penpenhooray



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is fucked, F/M, Harry is a clueless wizard, M/M, Mpreg, Narcissa is Slytherin to the core, One Night Stand, Pureblood Culture, Ron isn't drunk enough for this shit, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Traditions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpenhooray/pseuds/penpenhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco never expected to get knocked up after a one night stand with Harry Potter. Hell, he never expected to get knocked up at all. </p><p>That being said, he'd rather deal with morning sickness than his scheming mother and his clueless baby-daddy any day. But with the Wizarding World just waiting for an opportunity to tear Draco apart, Draco's got to convince Potter to make the child legitimate by marrying Draco and accepting the baby as his heir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another wonderful prompt from an anon on tumblr! Enjoy!

Draco knew, from the moment he had felt his magic flare and begun to experience abdominal pains, that he was well and truly fucked.

Which was how he got into his predicament in the first place.

“Merlin’s ballsack…” Draco groaned, slumped over the toilet after emptying his stomach for the third time that week.

There was a hesitant knock on the bathroom door, “Draco, darling, are you alright?” Narcissa Malfoy’s voice was slightly muffled by the heavy mahogany door, but the concern in her voice was still apparent.

For a moment, Draco considered lying to his mother. No son wanted to go crawling to his mother with his problems. But ultimately, he knew lying would only make things worse. Knowing his mother, she’d probably slip truth potion into his drink.

“No…” He admitted, weakly.

The door opened slowly, revealing his mother, still in her dressing gown and her hair braided down her back, “What’s wrong, Draco?”

Draco sighed, grateful he had nothing left in his stomach, “Well, good news: you’re going to be a grandmother.” He held up a small potion vial, the blue liquid sloshing about inside.

If it was possible for a Malfoy (even one by marriage) to pale, no doubt Draco’s mother had practically blanched. “Draco, you’re _pregnant?_ _”_ She shook her head slightly, clearing her thoughts, “You’re sure?”

“This is the third one,” Draco shook the vial slowly, “All the same result. I guess the Malfoy family will have a little bastard.”

“Absolutely not.”

Draco looked up at his mother, “Excuse me?”

“No son of mine will be cast aside to raise a child alone.” Narcissa Malfoy shook his head, “Who’s the father? I need to know which… _bastard_ I need to hex into making you an honest man.”

“ _Mother._ _”_ Draco shook his head, standing slowly, “It’s not like I’m underage and I was taken advantage of. I knew what I was getting into, I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, Draco.” The Malfoy matriarch nodded slowly, “But I won’t give the Wizarding Wold _any_ chance to destroy your character, or to target your child.”

It was true, the Malfoy family had been skating on incredibly thin ice since the war. There were many who thought that they didn’t deserve to be free (or live), and they were simply waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into them.

Draco hadn’t thought about what might happen if word got out that Draco was having a bastard. It was rare enough for a wizard’s magical core to be strong enough to impregnate another wizard, it wouldn’t take much for _The Daily Prophet_ to churn out a medley of rumors.

“Who’s the father?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t like it already, but I don’t care if it’s the spawn of the Dark Lord, I’m still going to protect you and the baby.”

That was imagery Draco could have gone without, “Don’t worry, no Dark Lord spawn. Quite the opposite.”

“You mean-”

“Yeah.”

“Oh dear…that does complicate things…”

“Yep.”

“…What happened?”

“Mother, I love you, but there is no way in hell I’m telling about my steamy one night stand with bloody Harry Potter.”

* * *

 

There were few things that Harry truly hated about his job. Sure, he hated the fact he had to face evil on a daily basis, and there were always people who wanted to kill him, and there were instances when Harry had to face death, both in victims and sometimes in his coworkers.

But what he really hated was the bloody politics of it all. Honestly, everything had it’s own paperwork. So there Harry was, sitting at his desk, hours after he was supposed to go home, working on damn paperwork.

“I’m going to wring Ron’s neck…” He muttered to himself, mentally cursing his partner for leaving him with the paperwork while he was on a date with Hermione.

Not like he could blame his friend, it wasn’t Ron’s fault that Harry didn’t have his own plans. He usually didn’t. If he was feeling spontaneous, he would go to a pub for a drink, or even some company for the evening. But that was rare, and more often than not, Harry was content to not have plans.

Of course, not having plans meant that he wasn’t expecting anyone at his office door.

So hearing his office door open, and looking up to see one Draco Malfoy standing into his office, was certainly not something Harry would have ever expected. Then again, Harry hadn’t exactly expected their previous encounter two months ago. Not that he minded, it was an enjoyable encounter.

“Um, did we have a meeting I didn’t know about?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Not even you are that forgetful, Potter.” He shook his head, striding into the office with typical Malfoy confidence, “But we do need to talk.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “If we were dating, I might be worried by those words. But since we’re not…should I still be worried?”

“Don’t be a drama queen, it doesn’t suit you.” Draco shook his head, taking a seat on the other side of Harry’s desk, “But this does concern…well, that night.”

“Good night, that was.”

“Well yes, it was quite enjoyable—”

“Where did you learn to do that thing with your tongue?”

“Potter, could you please stop thinking with your prick for five minutes.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to blush from thoughts of their night together, “Your prick is what’s got us into a bit of trouble.”

Harry blinked, “What, did I give you something? I swear, I came back clean on my last physical—”

“Potter, you didn’t give me crabs, you knocked me up the duff!”

There was a moment in which the words that had come from Draco’s mouth hadn’t quite registered with Harry’s brain. He stared at Draco numbly, piecing together what he had heard. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Wizards can get pregnant?”

An exasperated look crossed Draco’s face, “Merlin help me, you’re hopeless. Yes Potter, I’m carrying your spawn, and Mother has invoked her familial rights as part of the Black Family, which _you_ are head of, that you take responsibility.”

“…And what does that mean?”

“It means we’re getting married, _darling._ _”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this was originally meant to be a one shot, but the idea just kept bugging me, so I wrote more! I don't know where this will be going, so if you have any ideas, let me know!

Harry had never thought he’d have a family of his own. He knew his past experiences with blood relatives had been…less than ideal, and the thought of ever being part of an actual family had been one that Harry had never allowed himself to think. He had been blessed to be taken in by the Weasley family, but he still wished for a family of his own. A wish that he had firmly squelched upon discovery that he had zero attraction to women.

Yet, apparently, he was going to be a father. To Draco Malfoy’s baby.

“Harry?”

Blinking, Harry looked up from the plate in front of him to look at Ron and Hermione sitting across the table from him. They were supposed to be celebrating Ron and Hermione’s engagement with a private dinner between the three of them, but Harry couldn’t keep his thoughts in check long enough to enjoy himself.

“You alright, mate?” Ron raised an eyebrow, taking a swig of his butterbeer.

Harry sighed, “I’m sorry, I guess I’ve got a long on my mind right now…”

“I haven’t even asked you to be best man yet, what are you worrying about now?”

For a moment, Harry debated not telling Ron and Hermione what he was “worrying about” at that moment. After all, it was their party (even if it was just the three of them), and they were celebrating their wonderful engagement. Harry couldn’t just bring the rain on an otherwise sunny occasion. On the other hand, this was Ron and Hermione, and he was shit at keeping secrets from them.

“I’m going to be a father.”

There was perhaps a solid three seconds from the time the words left his mouth to the time he could see Ron and Hermione’s reaction. Or rather, hear their reaction.

“Are you serious!”

“Why didn’t you tell us!”

Ron was just about choking on his butterbeer, “Bloody hell, Harry. How long have you been keeping this from us?”

“I just found out yesterday!” Harry shook his head, “You both know I’m rubbish and keeping things from you.”

Hermione rushed around the table to wrap Harry in a hug, “Oh Harry, we’re so happy for you!”

Harry blinked, “Wait, you knew wizards could get pregnant?”

“Of course I know, wait, you mean you didn’t?” Hermione look practically scandalized, “Harry, that really was irresponsible of you as a gay wizard. But don’t worry, I have plenty of books and phamplets on the topic—”

“Why do you have books on wizard pregnancies?”

“—And I can go with you to all your pre-natal appointments. Oh, and we can even throw you a baby shower…”

When Hermione got to talking (and really got to talking), Harry’s mind had a tendency to spin like a top. It was a miracle he was able to keep track of everything that Hermione was telling him. Finally, Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, and pulled Hermione to arm’s length, “Hold on, Hermione, I’m not the one who’s pregnant.”

Hermione, despite being the brightest witch of her age, blinked in confusion, “You’re not?”

Ron, however, snorted into his butterbeer, “Told you he wasn’t a bottom.” He grinned at Harry, “So who did you knock up the duff?”

Part of Harry wondered if it would be socially acceptable for him to leap out of the nearest window to avoid the conversation. But unfortunately, he did seem to have some manners when it came to his best friends, “You really aren’t going to like it…”

“Don’t start your sentences like that Harry, it really makes me wish I had a stronger drink.”

“Ron!”

“It’s true!”

Harry shook his head. Best to get it out sooner rather than later. “It’s Malfoy.”

Ron stared at Harry for several moments before groaning, “I knew I was going to need a stronger drink…” He rubbed his temples, “Can I ask why?”

“Why what?” Harry blinked.

“Why you thought buggering him was a good idea!” Ron shook his head, “Please tell me you were drunk and it was hate sex…”

“We met at a club, and it was sex sex.” Harry shrugged, running a hand though his hair, “I don’t know what you want from me, Ron.”

Hermione smiled softly, doing her best as usual to play peacekeeper, “I’m sure what Ron means is—”

“What I mean, Hermione—” Ron interrupted, “Is that I’m going to be godfather to Draco Malfoy’s baby, so forgive me if I have a little bit of a meltdown.”

“Really Ron,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “stop being so dramatic. I’m sure Harry didn’t have a meltdown when he found out.”

“I might have passed out a bit.”

“Harry!” Hermione had her hands on her hips, “You did not!”

Harry shook his head, “Not when he told me he was pregnant, no! I was still in shock.” He lowered his voice to a mumble, his cheeks burning red, “I did after he told me we were getting married.”

By now, Ron had given up on his butterbeer and was now staring at Harry, “You what now?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry recounted the details of his meeting with Draco, and how exactly he came to learn that he was a father, “…and then he mentions his mother calling in some familial right thing for the Black family—”

Hermione didn’t show any recognition at the phrase, but Ron frowned, “What _exactly_ did he say she would invoke?” he asked, leaning forward so his elbows rested on the table.

“It was exactly that: “Familial right as part of the Black family.” Apparently as head of the Black family, I have to take responsibility.”

Ron paled. Which, in retrospect, was quite the feat, given Ron’s naturally fair skin, but in that moment, it was a forboding sight, “Oh no…”

“Don’t start your sentences like that Ron, it makes me wish I had a stronger drink.”

The ginger paid no mind to Harry’s sarcasm, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, “No, Harry, you don’t understand.” He leaned against the table, nearly into his unfinished dinner, “That familial right, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, means that a member of the household is calling for the head of their family to claim the child as their own.”

Harry blinked, “…But it is my baby…and I have no qualms with admitting that…does she think I’ll deny that?”

Ron rubbed his temples, “This is an old Wizarding family law, dating back to when children out of wedlock was practically a social death sentence.” He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, “Back in the day, if some young witch or wizard was taken advantage of or, Merlin forbid, raped, and ended up pregnant because of it, the only way that the child would be spared bastardy is if the head of the family claimed the child as their own. In cases where the head of family was married, they could declare the child a godchild, and arrange a healthy marriage for the mother. If the head of family is unmarried, however…”

“Marry the mother…Got it.” Harry leaned back in his chair, “But why did she feel the need to invoke this? Plenty of people have children outside of marriage now-a-days. It’s not like Draco would be forced to wear a red A on his cloaks.”

It was Hermione who spoke next, “Harry, remember, wizards have long lifespans, and the old ways die hard. We still use quills for crying out loud.” She sighed, “Not to mention, the Malfoys are on incredibly thin ice. There are plenty of people who still think Narcissa and Draco got off far too easy—” At this, she looked at Ron.

Ron, to his credit, did not seek a fight, holding his hands up in surrender, “Oi, I thought they should have at least gotten two years house arrest for war crimes, not the Dementor’s Kiss.”

“Anyway,” Hermione shook her head, “the point I’m trying to make, Harry, is that a lot of people are just waiting for an excuse to sink their teeth into Draco, and if they get wind of an illicit love child, the last think Draco will need to worry about is a scarlet letter.”

“So Mama Malfoy is doing what she does best: protect her baby boy.” Ron nodded, “And if she’s willing to invoke familial right, she has no problem with dragging you through the Daily Prophet in order to get you to comply. Be glad she hasn’t gone public with this invocation, it could be much worse.”

“Ron, this is the same woman who lied to Voldemort’s face in order to get to her son, I’m well aware of how far Narcissa Malfoy is willing to go for Draco.” Harry picked up Ron’s butterbeer and slammed down the remaining contents, “Which means this is a double engagement party.”

“Congrats, mate.” Ron snorted, “Though I think I got off with the better in-laws.”

* * *

 

Azkaban Prison was known for one thing first and foremost: being the most miserable place a wizard could think of being. Even after dementors had ceased to be used as guards for the prison, it still had a reputation of draining the life out of its residents. It was always cold (being located in the North Sea and all), the winds were always howling, the days were gray and the nights were bleek.

Azkaban did not need dementors to crush the souls of its prisoners.

Most of the prisoners in Azkaban’s cells would no doubt kill for the chance to get out sooner rather than later. Some made it a point to howl and moan obscenities at the passing Aurors who had been unfortunate enough to be given guard duty on any given day. Despite no dementors, there were still a good number of inmates who had completely lost their minds, thinking of nothing but the day they would be free.

Not Lucius Malfoy.

True, he too thought of the day of his release (there was little else for him to do during the long nights), and there were times when the thought gnawed at his bones like a rabid dog. The tiny cell only served as a reminder of just how far he had fallen in life due to his arrogance and his foolishness. He loathed the cell with a passion he could not compare to any other. But unlike other inmates, he did not plot escape. He did not shout and scream at the Aurors (because really, what good would that do?), and he was _determined_ not to lose his mind. Because he would leave Azkaban.

In hopefully four thousand and thirty-four days. Eleven years was a long time to wait, for sure, but Lucius was quickly learning to be a patient man. He was four years into his thirty-year sentence, but eleven years from then, at the fifteen year mark, Lucius would be up for review. And, if everything worked in his favor, he could be released on good behavior.

He had seen what escaping earned a prisoner (ten years of his sentence was from that offense alone). No, he would play by the rules, for once in his life. He would count the days in chalk on the far wall of his cell, and he would wait. Because while eleven years was a long time, he knew his sentence would have been much longer…

There were footsteps making their way down the hallway, an Auror on their rounds. The noise wouldn’t have registered in Lucius’s mind if it hadn’t been accompanied by the quiet, yet crisp steps of a lady’s shoes.

“Malfoy.”

Lucius turned his attention to the Auror standing at his cell door. He couldn’t be bothered to remember the young man’s name, though considering how he barely looked older than Draco, he was most likely a newer recruit to the Aurors. The Auror didn’t seem intent on paying Lucius much mind either, “You’ve got a visitor.”

Lucius only ever had one visitor, so needless to say the statement got his attention. By the time the Auror stepped aside to allow Narcissa to approach the cell door, Lucius was already waiting on the other side, “Narcissa…”

Narcissa, graceful even in that Merlin-forsaken place, smiled softly, “Lucius…you look good.”

“You’re as good a liar as ever.” Lucius nodded, “But I take it you and Draco are doing well?”

“Of course.” A normal wizard might not have noticed the way Narcissa’s features pinched ever so slightly, but Lucius had been married to the witch long enough to notice the difference in his wife at the mention of their son. But neither of them said a word until the Auror had continued on his rounds (after all, Narcissa had surrendered her wand upon arrival and she had been searched for any contraband) and give them privacy during their visit.

Once the young man had turned the corner, Lucius allowed the pleasantries to fall by the wayside, “What’s happened?”

“Draco’s pregnant.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t news one heard a daily basis. True, Lucius knew that one day Draco would have children of his own to continue the family line. Though he certainly hadn’t expected _Draco_ to be the one to carry the child… “I take it that because I have not seen any wedding announcements, or heard anything from you concerning an engagement, the child was not planned.”

“Of course.” Narcissa nodded grimly.

Lucius didn’t need to be reminded of the old stigma concerning children out of wedlock. He could remember the stories his father had recounted of distant cousins and aunts and uncles who had found themselves at the mercy of their relatives’ charity. And after the events of the Second Wizarding War, the Malfoy family no longer had high enough standing to secure a respectable enough marriage to keep Draco’s reputation intact—

“Stop frowning, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.” Narcissa chastised lightly, “I’ve already taken steps to ensure Draco, and our grandchild, stay out of the claws of public opinion.”

That caught Lucius’s attention, “How do you plan on managing that?”

“Well, thankfully your son had the good sense to be in the family way with the best possible.” There was a wry smile on Narcissa’s face. At the slightly confused look on Lucius’s face, she continued, “Potter.”

“Potter?” Lucius usually wasn’t the type to repeat the obvious, but the idea was rather outlandish. His son, and the Darling of the Wizarding World? “Narcissa, you know as well as I that no one in the entire Wizarding World is going to let their precious savior marry, let alone have children with, anyone with the name Malfoy.”

“I know.” Narcissa replied, the smile vanishing, “But Potter is also head of the Black family…”

Oh. It dawned on Lucius then, “I see…Give me the papers then.”

“Lucius, I—”

“Narcissa, the papers.”

Narcissa paused, looking at her husband before reaching to her bag and drawing out a small packet of documents. It took some effort to pass the documents through the bars of the cell, but eventually Lucius had them in his hands. Even though it was only a few dozen pieces of parchment, the weight felt immense in his arms.

“Do you have a quill?” The words, weak as they were as they left his tongue, lingered in the cell for what seemed like an age. And Narcissa, Merlin bless her, had remembered his favorite quill as she passed it through the bars. Lucius could feel the gentle warmth of her hand as he took the quill from her, though he resisted the urge to cling to her hand as if it was his last lifeline.

As Lucius moved to sit on the floor to sift through the documents (his cell had no desk, to his annoyance), Narcissa watched him sadly, “Lucius…you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes, Narcissa, I do.” Lucius shook his head, signing his name on page after page, “Narcissa, I haven’t always done right by you or by Draco, I’ve endangered your both with my foolishness, and I have left you both to carry my shame while I rot away from the rest of the world. I now that I so desperately wish to protect you both, I am unable to. If this is the only thing I can give so that you and Draco, as well as his child, can be protected, then so be it.”

With that, Lucius signed his name on the last page of the file, watching the ink dry quickly (he was always fond of that quick-drying ink) before passing both parchment and quill back to Narcissa, “There. It is done.”

Narcissa’s eyes had the tell-tale sheen that came with unshed tears, “I’m so sorry, Lucius.”

Reaching as far as he could through the bars of his cell, Lucius gently touched Narcissa’s cheek, “Don’t let them see you cry, Narcissa. It’s a sign of weakness.”

Nodding quickly, Narcissa fetched her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

“That’s better,” Lucius murmured, “No tears, Narcissa. Remember, you’re happy now, you’re free.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m in that cell with you?”

“Because you have more heart than is wise.” Lucius nodded, still holding her cheek “Focus on Draco, focus on the baby, focus on getting Potter to _behave._ You know how to play the game, Narcissa, you weren’t sorted into Slytherin because you look ravishing in emeralds.”

A small smile tugged at Narcissa’s lips, before she turned her head and pressed a kiss to Lucius’s palm, “I’ll be sure to write you.”

“No.” Lucius shook his head, “Not until after the wedding and the baby is born. I won’t have you taking risks you don’t need to.”

Narcissa nodded slowly, “Of course…” She took a deep breath, touching her hand to Lucius’s, “Please know that no matter what you hear or read, no matter what I have to do for Draco…I will always love you, Lucius Malfoy.”

A sad smile stretched Lucius’s mouth, just as his heart sank when he heard the footsteps of the Auror returning from his rounds. Withdrawing his hand before the guard could see the affection, Lucius whispered, just loud enough for Narcissa to hear, “And I love you, Miss Black.”

The Auror returned to Narcissa’s side, spying the papers in her hands, “Are you finished, Mrs. Malfoy?”

Narcissa nodded, not looking at Lucius anymore, “I am…and it’s Black now.”

“Of course.” The Auror didn’t seem surprised. Then again, all of the guards had probably seen the files Narcissa had brought in when she had arrived, so no doubt all of Azkaban was aware of the situation. And news would spread once the guards ended their shift and could gossip with their friends. No doubt _The Daily Prophet_ would have the news within days.

But perhaps that was Narcissa’s plan all along. Playing the game before she had set foot in the building.

There was nothing for it, really. The name Black would be the only redeeming factor for both Narcissa and Draco, it was their connection to Potter and, by extension, a respectable line (after all, all the bad seeds of the Black family had been killed, Narcissa’s sister included). If Potter had a shred of that Gryffindor honor that seemed to cling to him, then he would take responsibility for Draco and, hopefully, Narcissa as well. They would be fine…

Though the knowledge seemed like bitter comfort a he watched his wife, no, _ex-wife_ , walk away from his cell. Lucius let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, his entire body sagging from emotional exhaustion. With a shakey breath that struggled to fill his lungs, the blond moved away from the door and to the far wall of his cell. He picked up the small piece of chalk he had been granted, and drew a single solitary line.

Four thousand, thirty-three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, poor Lucius! And Narcissa does not pull punches when it comes to her baby boy! Poor Harry is going to have to learn to deal some seriously Slytherin in-laws!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I love comments or kudos!


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